


Hands and Pebbles

by XtaticPearl



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, School, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 18:44:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14243481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XtaticPearl/pseuds/XtaticPearl
Summary: It takes forever to talk to the boy and Tony thinks that it’s ridiculous because it was pretty impossible to ignore him.Steve. Pretty, stubborn, blue-eyed Steve Rogers, who had punched Tony.





	Hands and Pebbles

It takes forever to talk to the boy and Tony thinks that it’s ridiculous because it was pretty impossible to ignore him. 

Steve. Pretty, stubborn, blue-eyed Steve Rogers, who had punched Tony.

“Does it hurt?” Jan asks, dark eyes wide as she looks at Tony’s arm, cuddling closer on the bench, effectively wrapping an arm over Tony’s shoulder, “Does it hurt a lot? Ms May said that it’ll be fine soon but he - he hit hard, right?”

Jan is mad and Tony can see it in pink spots on her cheeks, the ones that Justin had said were because she was blushing and Jan had yelled at him for 20 minutes. She doesn’t go red in the face unless she is  _really_ mad and for some reason, a strange reason, she only gets really mad when Tony is hurt.

He doesn’t understand it. He’s not as happy as her or kind as her and he doesn’t have a wide smile for everyone. All he has is a loud brain, troublesome fingers, and confusing words that nobody understands. He had heard Mr. Vanko tell dad that Tony wasn’t like other 6-year-old kids and Tony doesn’t understand why but dad tells him that it’s how his son should be.

Tony wishes that dad’s son could be smiley and open with hugs like Jan. He likes hugs, likes cuddling with Ana when she’s not too weak or sleeping, or with Uncle Danny when he comes home-  _always when dad’s not around_  - but he doesn’t want to be something dad doesn’t like.

Sometimes he wonders what dad likes but the last time he asked Jarvis this, the man looked pained. Tony doesn’t ask again. 

“No,” he lies, he’s good at that, and bumps shoulders with Jan lightly when she still looks unhappy, “I’m okay.”

She nods because Jan says that Tony can lie when it’s scary. She is the only person who doesn’t call Tony rotten for lying sometimes and that always makes Tony feel funny in his tummy, the part that gets anxious when he knows somebody won’t like his answer. 

He tries to tell her the truth after the anxious feeling goes and she always is okay with that. He wonders if he can take Jan home with him and have her to talk to when mom sleeps with a funny smell of that bottle Jarvis hides or dad yells about Tony talking to him. 

“Come on,” she squeezes his shoulder with her arm and catches his palm in her own, “I think Sam brought a new book today. It has cool pictures of flying robots.”

Tony lets her drag him off the bench and tries not to think about Steve’s bright blue eyes glaring at him before he punched Tony’s arm.

The next day Tony finds a note on his desk, pale blue paper folded crookedly down to a messy square. There’s a shiny pebble sitting on top of it and Tony remembers those pebbles from the garden down Amora’s house. Amora’s mom said that they were special rocks, bought from somewhere far and that Mr. Odin was very proud of them. 

Nobody gets to go play in that garden but Loki had gifted Amora one of the pebbles on her birthday and Tony had loved the way it looked like it was reflecting a rainbow, whenever the light hit it right. 

He stares at his pebble and doesn’t dare touch its pink design that flowed over yellow spots. He looks up and around the class but nobody is looking his way. Jan is late, like most days, and he doesn’t want to ask anyone else. 

He eyes the pebble and the note before gently prying the paper out from under the pebble. It’s almost crumpled in its folding but he carefully unfolds it and spreads it on the desk before reading. 

_Dear Tony_

_M sorry. Buck said that you were jus asking about Clint’s hearin piece and not making fun of him. Ma was disapointed that I didn’t ask before I got angry. She says disapointed means she wants me to do betta. She also said that I should tell you why I was angry._

_I thoght you were making fun of Clint and a lot of people make fun of him for not hearing like you do. It’s wrong and he is my friend and he becomes sad. I don’t like it and I think they’re jerks. I don’t like jerks. I was a jerk to you yesterday. M so sorry._

_I don’t want you to not like me but fair’s fair and you can not like me if you want. You don’t have ta like jerks._

_If you want you can punch me too. 1 punch only but._

_~~I think you’re pretty~~  If you wanna be friends after punching, I would like that. _

_Punch - Yes/No_

_Friend - Yes/No_

_~~Hug~~ _

_Steve Rogers_

“What’s that?” he hears Jan’s voice and Tony quickly crushed the paper and stuffed it into his pocket, turning to see her come towards her place, “Ooh, is that the shiny rock from Thor’s garden?”

Tony grins, wide  _wide_ and bright, and carefully shows her his gift. 

That afternoon, when he bumps into Steve Rogers in the playground, he sucks in a breath and is fascinated when the blond boy flushes red.

“Hi,” Steve says, looking at Tony and quickly away before looking again, “You, uh, Ms. May said that your arm hurt yesterday. Is it - uh - is it fine?”

Tony doesn’t tell him that it stopped hurting soon, that Steve didn’t punch too hard, but he nods jerkily, trying to not stare at Steve’s floppy hair or the way he squares his bony shoulders before meeting Tony’s eyes.

“I left you a note,” Steve says, quickly, like the words were in a race, and he still looks red but his eyes look determined. Tony has a colour set at home, the largest Aunt Peggy could find, and it has a lot of shades of blue. Tony had spent an entire week trying to figure out which shade was Steve’s eyes and he thinks that it’s azure, the colour he uses most for his robot drawings’ cores. It’s powerful and the reason the robots can work, he had told Jarvis when he was asked. He thinks that Steve’s eyes are powerful too but he’s too fluttery, too keyed up to think about it now.

He nods and Steve exhales a little, eyes darting over Tony’s face before he talks again.

“You - uh - you can punch now,” he says and Tony wants to laugh, wants to laugh till he rolls, because he never wants to punch Steve. Steve is fierce and brave and fights for his friends. He is like the stars of Ana’s stories, the one that Tony always felt a little scared of but liked. The  _knights_ , he remembers and he imagines that Steve would have a fast horse. 

“It’s okay,” he says and he doesn’t like his own voice. It’s too soft, too light and floating. It’s not a voice that can catch attention unless he yells and he doesn’t want to yell at Steve. 

Steve blinks at him and he looks like he does when Ms. Martinelli told the story of stars in the sky. Steve had declared that day that he’d find the best star ever one day. 

He’s staring at Tony and Tony thinks that running away will probably not be right but he wants to, he doesn’t know what to do. 

And then Steve smiles. It’s a tiny thing, a small cuve of his lips, and Tony’s seen it aimed at Bucky and Clint and other friends of Steve. 

Not at himself. Never at himself. 

He doesn’t know if Jarvis would believe him but that smile is powerful too and Tony hesitantly smiles back, too tight in his chest to know what to do next. 

But Steve knows and Tony thinks he might fall over in surprise when Steve comes forward, brave now, and sticks out a hand. 

It’s bony and thin and Tony is scared to hold it because he won’t know to let go. 

“Friends?” Steve asks, clear and open and Tony swallows the tight block in his throat.

“Me?” he asks, quiet and eyeing Steve’s hand but Steve’s expressions tics for a second before becoming firm again.

“Yeah, ‘course,” he says and waits, patient and for Tony. Tony thinks of a tiny fist hitting his arm. An angry glare thrown over a shoulder. A pink pebble on his desk. A blue core in a robot’s heart.

He raises his hand and slips it into Steve’s hold. 

A thousand times they shake hands, a million times they hold, and never once, not once in all the years they know does Steve let go.

Even when they’re jerks or when they hurt, there are notes and kisses and coming back to a middle ground of chances.

But there is always Steve’s hand that holds his own, no matter where Tony goes.

And there is a home they build one day, when shoulders aren’t strained and eyes are familiar, where there are two prints in the welcoming wall.

One of a knight and the other his star, meeting where rings collide. 


End file.
